Timber
by Evergreene
Summary: Four musketeers sitting in a tree...


**A/N: This started as just a bit of silliness to help me with writing block, but I hope you enjoy the result!**

Timber

'How is he?' Athos demanded, readjusting his grip on the topmost branches of the great chestnut tree.

_'He_ is able to speak for himself.'

'One last time, d'Artagnan, I am talking to Aramis, not to you.'

'I'm the one who's wounded,' d'Artagnan muttered waspishly, giving the bloodied gash in his thigh a mutinous poke.

'Stop that,' Athos snapped. 'Aramis-'

'He's losing blood.' From where he was perched precariously besides d'Artagnan in the cradle of two entwined branches, Aramis batted d'Artagnan's fingers away then glanced up at Athos through the leaves and gathering darkness. 'He cannot stay here much longer. We must move.'

Porthos' voice carried up from the studier branches below them, where he was clamped tightly against the tree's vast trunk. 'How were you planning on doing that then? Last time I looked, a dozen men and their dogs were roaming this wood, all looking for us. We set foot on the ground and we'll be turned into a dog's dinner before we know what's hit us.'

'A true optimist is our Porthos,' commented Aramis, dealing another slap to d'Artagnan's prying fingers as he tried to prod at his leg once more.

Edging forwards on his branch, Athos' lips tightened as he got a good look at the pale face and waxy complexion of the youngest member of their company. 'He's getting worse, isn't he?'

'I am wounded, not deaf.'

Athos ignored him. 'Is there nothing you can do, Aramis?'

'I should be able to stop the bleeding if I can wrap it tightly enough,' said Aramis, ignoring d'Artagnan's hiss as he probed carefully at the wound with gentle fingers. 'But it needs to be sewn closed if it's to heal.'

'Sounds fun,' d'Artagnan muttered, closing his eyes and pressing his head back against the branch behind him, both hands now wrapped about his upper thigh.

'It will be a riot of hilarity,' Aramis promised him, gathering his cloak in his hands and beginning to rip it into strips. 'But that must wait until we are on the ground.' He glanced up at Athos. 'Pass me your water flask, would you?'

Handing it over, Athos looked down to where he could just see the top of Porthos' hat through the darkness. 'Porthos.'

'Aye?'

'Any sign of them?'

'None,' said Porthos. 'How's d'Artagnan?'

'Wonderful.'

'He wasn't talking to you,' Aramis informed d'Artagnan, taking a firm grip on his thigh. 'Now stay still while I-'

'Ow!'

'Keep it down!' ordered Athos sharply. 'Those men were minutes behind us. The slightest sound could draw them near.'

Aramis grimaced as his fingers slipped wetly in the blood that was welling up from the deep wound in d'Artagnan's leg. 'What would you have me do, Athos? Gag him?'

'If you think it would help.'

D'Artagnan glared at Aramis through the sweaty strands of dark hair that were plastered to his forehead. 'Don't you dare-' he started, before breaking off with a strangled curse.

Clinging to the trunk, Porthos let out his own oath as the huge tree swayed violently, its leaves rustling against each other. 'What's happening up there?' he demanded, looking up as best he could without losing his grip.

'Nothing to worry about,' Aramis reassured him. 'D'Artagnan here is just a bit jumpy about me flushing out his wound.'

'I'm not _jumpy_,' hissed d'Artagnan, wrenching his leg away as best he could as Aramis bent over it once more with Athos' water flask in hand.

The tree trembled again and Porthos slammed his fist against the trunk. 'Stop shaking the tree, would you!'

Aramis shook his head in mock-concern. 'Porthos doesn't like heights,' he confided to d'Artagnan, who huffed a pained laugh as he fought to keep still.

'What are you telling him?' Porthos demanded.

'Nothing he didn't need to know,' replied Aramis airily and before Porthos could say anything more, he took a firm grip on d'Artagnan's leg and tipped the water flask up and over it, dousing the wound fully and causing d'Artagnan to let out a vicious curse.

Above them, Athos muttered his own curse and descended swiftly through the branches until he could clamp a hand tight across d'Artagnan's mouth, gagging him from any further sound as the tree rocked furiously.

'Make him stop doing that!' Porthos bellowed.

'We are doing the best we can,' Athos snapped, struggling to keep one hand over d'Artagnan's mouth as he fisted the other in his shirt, forcing him back against the tree so he did not plummet to the ground, lost to the pain. 'Aramis-'

'Here, give him a drink of this.' Pausing halfway through wrapping d'Artagnan's leg, Aramis tugged another flask, smaller this time, from Athos' own belt, but before Athos could take it another hand reached out and grabbed it, and before either of them could stop him, d'Artagnan had drained the contents of the flask in one go. Done, he slumped back against the tree with a muttered thanks, his face ashen as he panted heavily, trying to catch his breath.

Athos raised his eyebrows at Aramis, the movement barely visible in the darkness. 'Was it wise for him to have that much?'

Aramis lifted his shoulder as he tugged the strips of torn-up cloak tight about d'Artagnan's leg and tucked them into each other. 'It will certainly numb the pain. And if it will help keep him silent, then all the better.'

Below them, Porthos snorted. 'It'd take a bloody miracle to keep that one quiet.'

'Least I'm not afraid of heights,' retorted d'Artagnan, tripping over his words slightly.

Porthos' mouth hung open for a moment, then he twisted round to glare at Aramis – or at least at what was visible of the underside of his boots. 'You told him?'

D'Artagnan snorted, his head lolling back against the tree branch as he closed his eyes. 'Of course he told me. Just like he told me that Athos is afraid of-'

'Not to interrupt this scintillating conversation,' Aramis interrupted quickly, 'but what exactly is our plan for getting down from here?'

Athos gave him a suspicious look. 'I am working on it.'

'You mean you don't have one?'

'You sound surprised.'

'Well, when you ordered us to climb up here, I assumed you had a plan.'

'I did have a plan.'

'To climb a tree?'

'It worked, did it not?'

Aramis nodded insincerely. 'Indeed. And what a plan – to climb a tree and stay here forevermore. Truly, it's quite fiendish in its simplicity.'

'The simple part is right,' muttered d'Artagnan, his voice much louder than it had been the last time he had spoken.

Porthos frowned. 'What's with him?'

'I'm _fine_.'

Reaching over, Aramis took d'Artagnan by the chin, turning his face from side to side. 'Our little friend has just downed the entire contents of Athos' flask, Porthos. How would you be?'

'Unlike d'Artagnan there, I can hold my wine.'

'That wasn't wine,' said Aramis and Athos in unison, causing d'Artagnan to let out a loud chuckle.

Raising an eyebrow at Athos, Aramis tugged d'Artagnan closer, scrutinising him carefully in the darkness then letting go with a sigh as d'Artagnan blinked at him slowly. 'This should be fun,' he murmured, sending a glance at Athos, who grimaced.

'Shhh,' said Porthos, stilling suddenly in the tree below them. 'I hear something.'

'I hear it too,' announced d'Artagnan loudly. He struggled to sit upright on the branch, but was forced back down by Athos and Aramis, who each grabbed a handful of his shirt and shoved him firmly back against the tree.

'Is it too much to ask to keep him quiet, Athos?' Aramis demanded, keeping one hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder as he leaned forwards through the darkness, trying to hear what Porthos had.

Athos glanced at him disbelievingly. 'He's drunk. And seeing as you were the one who gave him that flask, I hardly see how you can be the one to complain.'

'It was half-empty!'

'Strange as it may seem, blood loss and a farm boy who holds his drink only half as well as he boasts are not a good combination when silence is required!'

'No need to get touchy,' Aramis muttered, but he was distracted as d'Artagnan tugged heavily on his sleeve and grinned at him, his teeth bright against the darkness.

'I learnt how to climb trees on my farm.'

Aramis patted him gently on the chest. 'Tree-climbing is an important skill,' he replied gravely. 'One that will stand you in great stead as long as Athos is in command.'

Athos rolled his eyes. 'Don't encourage him.'

'I am just making conversation.'

'You are being a fool!'

'Stop your talking, both of you,' Porthos hissed. 'Someone's coming.'

They silenced as one as a iron-haired man appeared below them on the forest floor, pistol in hand and stepping silently. Around him were several cloaked shadows. The group of men stopped right underneath them and then, through the darkness, came a familiar voice with a very sharp edge to it.

'Between the four of you, you make enough noise to wake the dead.'

Athos, Porthos and Aramis glanced at each other.

'Was that-' Aramis started.

'It was,' the voice interrupted. 'Now get down here before I send someone up after you.'

The musketeers exchanged another glance, then Porthos carefully began to make his way down the tree, clinging more tightly to the branches than was probably necessary. Athos and Aramis followed more slowly with d'Artagnan, who was hampered by his injury as well as by his over-enthusiastic movements. Finally on the ground, they arranged themselves in a line, with Aramis and Athos holding a grinning d'Artagnan up between them.

Treville stared at them for a long moment. 'Well?' he finally demanded. 'What do you four have to say for yourselves?' He narrowed his eyes and flicked a glance at Athos. 'And what's wrong with d'Artagnan?'

Athos sighed. 'He's drunk.'

'Drunk?' Treville repeated.

'I think you will find that it is Aramis' fault.'

'You're the one who insists on carrying that flask-'

'If you two don't quit your arguing, I'm going to shove that damn flask where the sun don't shine.'

'My leg hurts.'

Treville looked at them for a moment longer. 'It will never cease to amaze me that the four of you have managed to survive so long in each others company,' he declared finally, before turning away. 'We've taken care of your pursuers and their horses are over there. We leave now. And we will not speak of this again, understand?'

He strode off and the errant musketeers were left looking at each other.

'The man's got a point,' said Porthos finally.

'Nonsense,' retorted Aramis. 'We are alive due to our prodigious skill and renowned courage in the face of immense danger. Not to mention my dashing good looks and Athos's superior intellect that allowed him to formulate a plan of such cunning that it will be spoken of throughout the ages-'

'I'm not listening to this,' growled Athos, levering d'Artagnan's arm more firmly over his shoulder and starting towards the group of horses that one of Treville's companions had led forwards for them.

'I'm listening.'

'I was talking to Aramis, not to you, d'Artagnan.'

'This sounds familiar,' muttered Porthos, shaking his head as he took his horse's reins and mounted up.

Aramis grinned, helping Athos lever d'Artagnan onto another of the horses before swinging up behind him, careful not to disturb his bandaged leg. 'So it does. Perhaps we should climb another tree in the faint hope that we might avoid further trouble? Athos, what do you think?'

Mounting his own horse, Athos let out a sigh. 'It's going to be a long ride home,' he muttered under his breath, and touched his heels to his horse's sides, urging it towards Paris with his friends just behind.

END

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